


Love In Lieu

by NurseDarry



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Creature Fic, M/M, epilogue compliant
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-05-19
Updated: 2012-05-19
Packaged: 2017-11-05 15:41:44
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 12,679
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/408142
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/NurseDarry/pseuds/NurseDarry
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>A scratch from one of the venerated Undead shouldn’t be that much to worry about, should it? How will Draco keep Potter away from the one person he loves more than himself?  Creature!fic (but since the prompt specified a bit of fluffiness and no blood-play, there’s nothing too graphic here - think <i>Love at First Bite</i>, rather than <i>The Hunger</i>).</p>
            </blockquote>





	Love In Lieu

**Author's Note:**

> The OMC's name is an anagram of Abraham Van Helsing. Many thanks to my talented betas. Written for HD_holidays, 2010.

^o^

“Scorpius, my god, are you all right? Potter, what happened? What did you do to him?” Draco hurriedly followed the two young men into the sitting room. Had Albus Potter not been supporting him as he walked, Scorpius looked as though he would have fallen into a heap. 

His son limped slowly, his eyes were half-closed, and his mouth was a tight line, as though he were trying to mask a hidden pain.

“I’m all right, Father, Albus is just trying to help,” Scorpius said. 

Draco wouldn’t be put off so easily. He took Scorpius by the other arm and fairly pulled him to one of the sofas, laying him carefully along the cushions. “What’s wrong? Why are you here? Why didn’t you go to the hospital? I’m taking you to St Mungo’s!” Draco reached down to grab his son’s arm whilst tugging his wand from his robe’s pocket.

“Malfoy, wait!” 

Harry Potter – Draco would recognise that voice anywhere. “What are you doing here?” Draco turned and asked, hardly able to hide his look of distaste. Scorpius drew his attention back before Draco could become any more cross at his two unwelcome guests.

“Father, I’m fine. We’ve already been there, and they sent us home. We didn’t want to worry you.”

“Somebody tell me what happened and tell me now!” Draco snarled, obviously not convinced of Scorpius’ well-being. He tried to shoulder his way closer to the head of the sofa. Albus stubbornly refused to make way for him.

“Malfoy,” Harry said. “Come over here and I’ll tell you what happened. Leave Albus to look after Scorpius for the moment. Then I’ll take Albus home.”

“Fine,” Draco moved away from Scorpius’ side, though his eyes never left him.

“Sit down,” Harry suggested, as if hoping he’d be asked to do the same. 

Draco didn’t give him the satisfaction and continued to stand. “I’m fine where I am, Potter. Just get on with it.” He watched as Albus placed another cushion behind his son’s back. Scorpius assured him he was all right and gave him a smile. Draco scowled. He’d only come to terms with his son’s relationship with Albus a few months ago. The two boys had been inseparable since being Sorted together, and whilst Draco had taken great delight in winding Albus’ father up about having a snake in the family, he’d pretended not to notice when the boys’ friendship took a turn for the romantic. Since then, Draco had made a concerted effort not be reminded of that romance until circumstances dictated it couldn’t be denied. Like now. 

Harry’s voice drew him out of his distasteful ruminations. “They were in London,” he explained. “Leaving a club or something –”

“Something?”

“Yes, a club, Father. A nice, pleasant club. Perfectly safe, perfectly legal – not an opium den, for Merlin’s sake.” 

Draco turned back to his son and sighed. He still struggled to reconcile this handsome and nearly adult man with the toddler whom he remembered so clearly.

“I had Albus tagged with a Tracking Spell –”

“Which we’ll talk about later,” the younger Potter threatened. Clearly he was rankled about his father's surveillance. 

Harry continued as though his son hadn’t spoken. “It alerts me when Albus might be in danger.”

“Yes, yes, Potter, I have a similar one on Scorpius. Do get on with it.”

“WHAT?!” Scorpius sat up sharply and Albus placed his hands gently on his shoulders, encouraging him to lie back. “You never told me that! Father, I’m –”

“Go on, Potter,” Draco said, ignoring Scorpius’ outburst.

“I could sense Albus was in trouble, so I Apparated to him and found the boys being…menaced by a…” Harry stopped and his brow creased, “…another wizard, who I believed was intent on doing them harm. I stunned him, er, eventually, and he was picked up by the Aurors. Then we Apparated to St Mungo’s and I was just about to contact you, when the Mediwizard there told us we could take Scorpius home.”

For a long moment, Draco stared levelly at Harry. Then he turned to the two boys. “Right, which one of you wants to tell me what really happened?”

Scorpius opened his mouth, but Albus beat him to it. “We were leaving the club and turned a corner to cut through an alley. This guy was just kind of lurking there. He didn’t look like a tramp or anything, more like a businessman. His robes were in good nick, at least. At any rate, as we got closer he said that I was a ‘lucky man’. Then he pointed at Scorpius and said he knew how I felt. I’ve no idea what he was on about.”

Draco sneered but remained silent and let Albus continue. Albus reached down and took Scorpius’ hand, as if concerned that recounting the story was a little distressing for the young Malfoy.

“I think he was a vampire. Whatever he was, he was creepy and kept sniffing Scorpius. He said that his ‘blood smelled like a beautiful perfume’. Scorp made a joke, saying that was just because someone had spilt a drink on him, but this guy didn’t laugh — just slinked closer and reached out a hand towards Scorp as if to grab him or stroke him or something. That’s when Dad appeared.”

“He didn’t touch me, Father. Mr Potter shoved us out of the way and tussled with this fellow and then finally stunned him. That’s when the Aurors appeared.”

As if on cue, a house-elf appeared with a pop and looked up at Draco with big eyes. “Master, there is an Auror being here and wanting to speak to Master, sir.”

Draco nodded curtly. “Show him in,” he said. 

“The Auror is being a she, Master,” the Elf said, almost apologetically.

“Yes, yes,” Draco said crossly to the elf with a dismissive wave of his hand. The elf disappeared and a moment later led Ginny Weasley into the room. Although dressed in her working robes, it was evident she was first and foremost here as a mother, as she ignored everyone in the room and quickly went to Albus’ side, giving him a quick hug.

“Are you all right?” she asked. Albus nodded. “How about you, Scorpius?” 

“I’m fine, Ms Weasley. He didn’t touch me. The Healer said I would be fine.”

Ginny sighed and finally acknowledged Draco and her ex-husband. “Harry, I’ll need you to come in and make a report.” 

Harry nodded. “Sure, I just wanted to make sure Scorpius got home okay. I was just going to head back. Is Neville with you?” 

“No,” she said. “He’s still at Headquarters.”

Draco had forgotten that the She-Weasel’s new love-interest was also an Auror. Evidently life with Harry and his now-famous owl-rearing business didn’t provide enough excitement for her. Draco smiled at the layers of meaning behind that notion.

Ginny continued. “He’s keeping an eye on this creature, as he’ll need to be under constant surveillance. At least until sunrise. The would-be assailant might have a record.”

So, it had been a vampire, Draco thought. He doubted that the vampire was anything more than what he appeared: a creature that was just going about procuring a meal. Which wasn’t illegal. 

Making a new vampire without consent was illegal, of course, but most would never dream of such a thing. They were very protective of their territory and their tastes, both of which were passed on to any vampires that they’d sire. Rarely could two live in close proximity, particularly when vying for the same game. Hence, most known vampires were exceedingly old, fairly well-known, and didn’t make trouble.

Obviously, Harry either didn’t know this, or had been too concerned for his son’s safety to care. A bite from a vampire wasn’t a thing to be sneezed at, though. They were serious wounds and the victim would be out of sorts for days; some even went permanently do-lally as a result. Case in point: Draco was convinced that a number of people he’d attended Hogwarts with (both students and staff) had once been on the receiving end of a vampire’s kiss. 

In some cultures it was considered good luck or a status symbol to have been marked by the Undead. They were renowned for their fickleness and sense of good taste. 

Even so, Draco was relieved that Scorpius had escaped unscathed.

“Let’s go, Albus,” Harry said. A house-elf appeared by Draco’s unspoken summons to escort the visitors to the Apparition point just outside the Wards. 

“What’s that?” Ginny asked, as Harry reached for his son.

The Potters and Draco all looked where she pointed. There was a long angry-looking scratch on Harry’s left forearm. It wasn’t fresh, but it did look painful. “Oh, probably from one of the owls. It’s nothing.”

According to what Draco had heard (about which he feigned complete disinterest), Harry sold his hand-reared owls to any number of high street owl purveyors around Britain, Ireland, and the Continent. They were famous for their gentle demeanours and reliable service. 

“You should have had it looked at whilst we were at the hospital, Dad,” Albus chastised him. 

“I’ll sort it out at home. It’s not that bad,” Harry assured him.

“Thank you for looking after me, Mr Potter.” 

“You’re welcome, Scorpius,” Harry said. 

Draco snorted. “He wasn’t there for you, you know, Scorpius. He came running because his son was in danger.”

“Malfoy, that’s not true!” Harry growled.

Ginny bristled at the exchange. “And a good thing he did, or Scorpius would have been a midnight snack and would now be spending the next fortnight in the Janus Thickey ward with a bandage on his neck!”

He didn’t reply, but Draco was pretty sure his posture and expression conveyed the Whatever he was desperate to say.

Albus gave Scorpius’ hand a last squeeze and assured him he’d see him the following day. Draco rolled his eyes, but stayed silent. As much as he was cheered by the idea that Scorpius would suit a vampire’s discerning palate, he questioned his son’s own taste when it came to finding someone with whom to share bodily fluids.

Draco watched as the door closed behind his visitors.

^o^

The next day when Draco entered the sitting room, it felt as though he’d never left.

“Potter, what are you doing here?” 

Both Harry and Albus looked at him for clarification. 

“As much as it pains me to say it, I know why Albus is here, Potter, but why are you tagging along? Chaperone?” Draco smirked at his own joke.

“Father,” Scorpius warned. Harry turned and looked at the younger Malfoy.

“Hey, Scorp,” Albus said, “We’ve got some more information on your would-be assailant. He’s got some kind of cool-sounding foreign name; Chinese, or something. At any rate, according to the Aurors, he has a thing for blonds. Can you believe it?” Albus smiled and playfully rubbed his knuckles over Scorpius’ head. “Most of his consorts are blond and they think all of his victims have been, as well. Good taste, this vampire.”

In an effort to avert his eyes from the display of affection in front of him, Draco turned to address Potter Sr. He stopped mid-thought when he saw Harry’s expression. His eyes were glazed and his lips were parted. If Draco didn’t know better, he’d have thought Harry was under a poorly-cast Imperius.

“Potter!” he said loudly and snapped his long fingers in Harry’s face.

Harry blinked and moved his head away, but slowly, suggesting that he’d been a million miles away when Draco’s hand had invaded his personal space. “What is it, Malfoy?” he asked angrily.

“You still haven’t answered my question. Why are you here?” Draco resisted the urge to tap his foot.

“Well, you know, I’m just here to see how Scorpius is doing,” Harry said. “And to make sure Albus stays out of trouble,” he added, almost as an afterthought.

“Dad, we’ve been through this. I’m fine,” Albus said. 

Obviously, the little father/son chat about the Tracking Charm had taken place. And by the sound of it, Potter Jr had had the last word.

“The Aurors have released the vampire; they couldn’t hold him for being…well, a vampire,” Harry finished somewhat lamely.

“I know, Potter,” Draco said. “Your ex Floo’d a message to me last night after you left.” He watched to see if his description of Weasley would rankle the Great Harry Potter. Apparently not.

“Oh, that’s good…” Harry said absently. Draco followed his gaze back to Scorpius.

“Right, time to go,” Draco made a sweeping gesture with his arm, making it obvious that he was including Albus in the dismissal. 

“Actually, I’ve come to collect Scorpius,” Albus said. “We’re going out to meet up with Teddy, James and Uncle George for the Quidditch. They’ve got tickets to the Cannons this afternoon.”

“I’ll be fine, Father,” Scorpius said. 

“Are you going, Potter?” Draco asked. 

“Huh? Oh, no. I’ve got to take some birds over to Eeylops this afternoon, and then I’m —” 

“That’s nice,” Draco interrupted. He ushered everyone from the room, stopping only to cast a discreet Tracking Charm on both Harry and Scorpius. Something was going on there, and Draco wasn’t sure he liked it. 

On second thought, he was sure. He didn’t like it one bit.

^o^

Albus’ dad got back late.

Albus and Scorpius had given in and made love, hoping Harry wouldn’t come home in the middle of it and hear them. They could both be quiet if they needed to, of course; Hogwarts had taught them a thing or two about that. But Albus loved to hear Scorpius make noise. He’d never yell or anything, and for that Albus was grateful — it had always sounded fake whenever he’d hear shouting through a poorly-cast Silencing Spell — but hearing Scorpius gasping “Oh god, Albus, I’m going to come,” just before he did come, never failed to tip Albus over the edge.

Now they lay, nearly asleep in each other’s arms in Albus’ bed. Albus figured his father probably knew what they got up to whenever Scorpius stayed the night, but they never advertised it. And Harry didn’t seem to mind; he always greeted Scorpius warmly in the morning. Albus drifted off with Scorpius pressed against his back, breathing soft and slowly.

Albus was awoken by a sliver of light shining in his face. He opened his eyes as far as a squint and saw the silhouette of a figure standing next to the bed, the light from the hall like an aura around it. Albus opened his eyes fully and tried to focus on the figure, even as he knew it could only be one person.

“Dad?” Albus croaked, his voice sleepy. “What is it?”

His father made no answer.

Albus raised himself up on one elbow and tugged the duvet further over his and Scorpius’ bodies. “Dad,” he said a little louder. “Is something wrong?”

Harry remained silent. Albus’ eyes adjusted to the light and he could see his father’s features. Harry’s eyes were glassy, his mouth slack, as if he were asleep but standing. He wore his clothes and a cloak, like he’d just returned to the house, so he couldn’t be sleep-walking. 

Albus began to worry. Particularly because Harry’s focus was definitely trained on Scorpius. Albus followed his father’s gaze and saw that Harry seemed mesmerised by the sight of Scorpius’ bare shoulder and throat where his body emerged from underneath the duvet.

“Dad!” Albus said, very loudly, and Scorpius stirred beside him. That jolted Harry from his trance and he blinked, looking down at the two boys in a confused manner. “Are you okay? What are you doing in here?”

By now, Scorpius was awake enough to know that they weren’t alone, and he pulled the duvet up to his chin.

“I— I’m sorry, boys. I didn’t mean to intrude, I just…” Harry stammered. Then he abruptly turned and fled from the room, shutting the door behind him.

“What was that all about?” Scorpius asked quietly into the dark. 

“I’ve no idea,” Albus replied. “It’s almost like he was sleep-walking.” He turned around and pulled Scorpius to him. “I don’t think he knew where he was or even saw us until I said something loud enough to wake him up. I’ll ask him tomorrow if you’re worried about your virtue.” Albus’ joke fell flat. Both boys worried about Harry’s behaviour. 

“I hope there’s nothing wrong with him,” Scorpius said. “You know the stories you hear about your dad…” 

“And the ones about yours?” Albus countered.

“Point taken,” Scorpius said, obviously not in the mood to have that conversation again. 

“Let’s get back to sleep…or something,” Albus suggested.

“Or something?” Scorpius asked with mock disdain. “Potter, sometimes I think you should have been Sorted with the rest of your family; you’re about as subtle as a—” Scorpius never finished the sentence. Albus’ tongue got in the way.

^o^

Malfoy Manor was alight with candles the size of fairy lights, giving the house and grounds a lovely ethereal quality. From the Apparition point, just beyond the wards, visitors would hear the melodic strains of the orchestra playing from within. 

Albus was looking forward to tonight; maybe not so much to the party, to which he’d been invited along with James, as to the night on the town they had planned for later. Albus wondered how Draco would react when he found out that their father was gate-crashing.

Once the Potters arrived and had given their cloaks to the house-elf on duty, they were shown to the ballroom -- miles, it seemed, from where they had entered the mansion.

Albus handed Scorpius another drink and rested his arm on Scorpius’ shoulder. “Good party, baby. Is there a reason we’re still here drinking eggnog when we could be sipping ridiculously-named cocktails at this Muggle place James wants to go to?”

“Very funny, Albus. Father wanted us to get together here for his Christmas party first before we went out. I think he’s still a little worried about me whenever I’m out of the house, so he looks for ways to keep me at the Manor. You know, the Aurorsdid have to let that vampire go.”

“Well, he’ll just have to find another blond. You’re mine.” Albus leaned in and gave Scorpius a more-than-friendly kiss on the lips. When he parted he noticed Scorpius blushing.

“Sorry, I forgot you don’t like to get into it in your own home,” Albus teased.

“Unlike you, you randy prat. Actually, I don’t mind it that much,” Scorpius admitted. “In fact, I quite like kissing my boyfriend in public. But what I don’t think too much of is Pansy Parkinson ogling us while we’re doing it.” Scorpius surreptitiously motioned with his cup towards one of the French doors, where, indeed, Pansy Parkinson stood with one of her old school chums and a predatory expression on her face. 

Of course Pansy often appeared that way to Albus. And Albus had learned that many girls got rather swoony or worse whenever they saw Scorpius and him sharing a snog. 

What he didn’t expect was that same look on the face of his father. But that was exactly what he saw when he turned to glance over towards where Harry was standing. It wasn’t outright lust, but rather an almost whimsical desire. It was a bit like the expression his grandmother wore whenever she talked about that nutty Gilderoy What’s-His-Name. Of course, that guy and his granny were never in the same room together, so he’d never seen her expression progress from the whimsical to the predatory, as it was now doing on the face of his father.

“C’mon,” said Albus, and he steered Scorpius towards the other side of the room.

*

An hour later and Albus was ready to leave. He tried vainly to catch James’ eye and give him the let’s-get-out-of-here signal, but James was too busy flirting with someone’s mum to notice. Albus found a place to deposit his empty mug, which was immediately snatched up by a house-elf, and went in search of the rest of the members of the group who were going out to London that night. 

He located most of them and gave them the same signal, which was returned gratefully, and then went to find Scorpius. He wandered around the huge room, crowded with guests, and when he didn’t see him, went to look through one of the open doors.

He found Scorpius just outside trying to fend off the advances of his father.

“Dad!” Albus cried. “What the hell are you doing?”

Luckily no one from inside the room had heard the shout, but Draco came running just as Harry looked up. 

“Potter!” Draco shouted. “Get your hands off my son!”

Harry looked down at his hands, which were wrapped tightly around Scorpius’ wrists. He was standing far too close to the younger man and only just that moment seemed to realise it. But he made no move to either release or move away from Scorpius. Indeed, he tried to thrust himself in front of the boy, placing himself almost protectively between Scorpius and anyone else.

“Stay away from us,” Harry warned. 

Albus hadn’t thought to draw his wand, so stunned was he, but Draco had. 

“Wait! Father!” Scorpius said sharply. Draco pulled up short but stood glaring at Harry and then quickly glanced at Albus.

“Albus, get him away from him. Now!”

Albus wasn’t sure who the hims referred to, but reckoned he meant get Harry away from Scorpius and not the other way around. Albus moved closer to the pair and was rewarded with a snarl from his father. Albus knew his father well enough to see that he was obviously possessed, or ill, or something was pretty damned wrong. There was no way on Earth he would ever do something like this while in complete control of his faculties. 

From Scorpius’ reaction, it was clear he felt similarly. Only Draco seemed to think otherwise. Or didn’t care. Or both.

From the large ballroom, there came a crash as someone dropped a glass or knocked over an ornament. Whatever it was, it was enough of a distraction for Albus’ quick-thinking boyfriend. Scorpius leapt out of Harry’s grasp and raced to Albus’ side.

“Father, put your wand away. Isn’t it obvious this isn’t what it looks like? There’s something wrong with Mr Potter.”

“Yes, there is,” Draco barked. “And he’s going to be dead wrong in a moment, so it won’t matter.” He advanced on the dazed Harry.

“Mr Malfoy!” Albus shouted at the same time Scorpius yelled “Father!”

Albus turned to protect Harry and then stopped short. Harry now gazed at Draco with the same expression that Albus had seen earlier when his father had been staring at Scorpius. It didn’t seem to matter a whit to Harry that Draco stood only a metre away, wand drawn and murderous intent written all over his face.

Correction. It did seem to matter, Albus realised, but not in the way Draco had probably intended. Harry edged closer.

“Potter, are you cracked?” Draco asked, taken aback by Harry’s behaviour. “What, for the love of Merlin, is your problem?”

“There’s no problem, Malfoy,” Harry said, almost calmly. “No problem at all.” 

Then he pounced.

Harry threw his arms around Draco’s neck and they tumbled to the ground. 

Draco was trapped beneath Harry, his aristocratic features now a mask of panic and fury. “Get off me, you raving lunatic!” he screamed.

“So sorry to have walked in on such a romantic scene,” said an amused and obviously tipsy voice from behind the four men.

“Blaise!” Draco called. “Get this crazy man off me; he’s trying to kill me!” 

Harry mumbled incoherently and draped himself across Draco’s body, effectively pinning him to the ground. Albus knew that his father’s compact body belied considerable strength and agility. 

“That’s not what it looks like from here, Draco, old boy,” Blaise said merrily. 

Albus had to agree with him. From this angle it really did look like his father was almost trying to kiss—

“Dad! Stop that! Scorpius, help me get him off your father!” Albus rushed over to the two men lying tangled on the flagstones.

“Holy hells, this is even better than watching Theo and Loony Lovegood going at it in Sixth year!” Albus heard Pansy Parkinson exclaim. She must have joined the group outside. “Millie, get out here and look at Draco and Potter!”

Footsteps clattered against slate and by the time Albus had managed to yank one of his father’s arms from around Draco, most of the party guests seemed to have gathered in the garden for a glimpse of the pair tussling on the ground. 

“Teddy, James, some help, please!” Albus called. 

Scorpius had managed to peel one of his father’s legs from around Harry’s hips— it looked as though he was trying to gouge out a piece of Harry’s thigh with the heel of his boot —and Teddy pulled at Harry’s other arm, whilst Albus held fast to the one he’d pulled away earlier.

“Ow, Teddy, what the fuck are you doing?!” Draco screamed. Harry’s hand came away from Draco’s head still gripping a fistful of pale hair.

“Harry, man, get off Draco,” Teddy said and Albus almost burst out laughing at the silliness of the statement. 

Blaise had managed to free Harry’s other leg and the four men literally lifted Albus’ dad off Scorpius’ father. Pansy helped Draco to his feet by offering him the hand that wasn’t holding a mug of eggnog. He stood upright, weaving slightly, one hand clutching his head, the other pressed against his jaw.

Harry struggled feebly and then went limp. Scorpius, Albus, Blaise, and Teddy deposited him on the soft manicured grass next to the patio. Blaise wisely stooped to collect Draco’s wand before he could Accio it. 

“Why the hell didn’t one of you Stupefy the bastard?” Draco shouted.

“I was too afraid of hitting you by mistake, Father,” Scorpius said, by way of an explanation.

“And I wasn’t about to stop the show,” Pansy said. 

Draco glared at her, then waved an arm at the interested onlookers.

“Right, everyone get out of here.” People slowly shuffled back inside where the music still played and the house-elves still stood with their trays laden with cocktails and canapés. 

Albus and James crouched next to their father, who sat rubbing his head.

“Potter,” Draco said, shaking off Scorpius’ arm. “Do I need to call for the Aurors or are you going to explain that little encounter?”

“I can’t…Malfoy.”

“Not good enough,” Draco said crossly.

“I just felt so much…need…I can’t explain it.”

“Dad,” said Albus quietly. “When I came out here, you were holding Scorpius by the arm. You looked like you wanted to…I dunno…devour him or something.”

Harry’s expression turned to disbelief. “Oh, my god.” He looked up at Scorpius. “I’m so sorry. I never intended to hurt you. I honestly didn’t. But you just smelled so…good.” Albus fought back a sharp tang of disgust at his father’s words. 

“That’s enough, Potter,” Draco said tightly.

“And you, Malfoy. So familiar, like a favourite dessert, or the smell of Quidditch…” Albus’ disgust intensified. He tried to decide what was the more sickening — his father making a move on his boyfriend, or making a move on his boyfriend’s father. It was bad enough trying to imagine his parents even conceiving him. Particularly since his father had come out.

“Potter, are you completely cracked? I think you need to get a grip—” Draco’s shouting brought Albus back to the present.

“Wait!” Scorpius interrupted. All eyes turned to him. “That’s what he said. A favourite wine, the smell of springtime…”

“What’s he on about?” James asked, helping his father to his feet.

“The vampire!” Scorpius said excitedly. “The vampire said that I reminded him of those things!”

“What?” cried everyone at once.

“Potter, why the hell would you have said those things?” Draco asked incredulously. “Unless that creature got to you somehow while you were there with the boys…”

Harry reflexively looked down at his arm to the scratch they’d asked about that night.

“Oh, bloody hell, Dad,” James said, shaking his head. “This is bad.”

“What are we going to do now?” Albus asked.

“Don’t tell Mum,” muttered James.

*

Once most of the guests had all been dispatched to their respective homes, a lengthy and heated discussion followed. 

“This isn’t good.” Hermione Granger-Weasley still had a knack for stating the obvious and sounding patronising at the same time. “The book has a chapter about this, and you wouldn’t believe what a rare phenomenon it is.” She held up a large, leather-bound tome.

“I can believe it,” Draco said. Trust Potter to be different again. Of course it wasn’t enough to be a Quidditch protégé, a Parselmouth, and Saviour of the Wizarding world. He also had to be the one person in the whole bloody world that could be turned into a vampire from a stupid scratch. 

Harry had asked Hermione to come over seeing that she knew so much about vampires. And everything else. “Normally, even the bite of a vampire isn’t enough to spawn,” she continued. "There has to be intent on both sides, and even then, there has to be a formal declaration, and now, of course, registration. This is…” she bent her bushy head back towards the book, “...unprecedented.”

“Don’t you think that in order for there to be a chapter about this in a book, there’d be some precedent?” Draco paced back and forth in the sitting room. Scorpius was safely tucked away up in his room with Albus, Teddy, Blaise and Greg taking it in turns to stand guard. Everyone knew that if Harry wanted, he’d get through any locking charm. Probably wandlessly, too, the bastard.

“Sit down, Malfoy,” Harry demanded. “You’re making me tired just watching you.”

“Yes, I’m sure that’s all I’m making you,” Draco replied mirthlessly. He might not like it, but he was convinced he had to stay in Harry’s presence, lest the man turn his attention towards his son.

Harry harrumphed. “Relax, Malfoy. I’m not going to attack you.”

“All evidence to the contrary,” Draco shot back. He looked at Pansy, who sat demurely in an armchair. She smirked at him, almost as if she could read his mind. He quickly blotted out the memory of the spike of desire that had jolted through him the minute Harry had laid hands on him, and returned to wearing down the pattern on the expensive Oriental rug. 

“Well, according to the author of this chapter, a Dr Graham Silva-Behann, there’s no way to stop what’s happening. You’ll become a vampire, Harry.”

“What? With fangs, and fear of the sunshine and I’ll turn into a bat?” Harry looked absolutely appalled. 

Hermione looked at him pityingly. “You don’t know the first thing about vampires, do you?” 

“Er, no, I guess not, since you’ve said that,” he admitted.

“To start with, you’ll not be confined to darkness. It says,” she bent her head to the book again and read, “’Although not widely acknowledged, any vampire, regardless of parentage, can survive the daylight hours, though they often prefer to be more active at night, due to their unusual nature. Because of their need for blood, they are best suited to feeding at night when their prey is at its most vulnerable.’”

“You mean inebriated,” James said from next to his father.

“No, James,” Hermione corrected. “Vampires would never take advantage of someone who wasn’t in full control of their faculties. They’d consider drunkenness an extremely unattractive condition. Vampires are almost snobbish in their tastes—”

“Said like a true Mud— Muggle-born,” Draco interrupted. “I believe the word you’re looking for is discerning.”

“Malfoy,” Hermione warned, and resumed her lecture. “They’d also never unintentionally make another vampire. However, this is believed to have happened on rare occasions. A Proxy Vampire — that’s what it’s called — has no recollection of either consenting to the process or experiencing it. Nor is there a lasting mark from their sire’s bite or whatever caused their creation, like one would have from intentional procreation. Those bites — and they’re always bites —are normally pretty obvious…although, interestingly, not usually in the obvious place.” She pointed to her neck in explanation.

“What do you mean unintentionally?” Harry asked, turning his head towards his friend. Draco sat down heavily in the nearest armchair.

“A vampire only creates another vampire if he or she feels the need to…well, die, to cease to exist. It rarely happens. Maybe one in five thousand vampires spawns. And there are maybe fifteen thousand vampires worldwide.

“However, a scratch or even the tears of a very strong or very old vampire has been said to create Proxy Vampires. At least, according to Dr Silva-Behann,” Hermione finished.

Draco rubbed his eyes. It was nearing midnight and he was getting tired and cranky.

“I take it this Dr What’s-His-Name—”

“Silva-Behann,” said everyone else in the room.

“Whatever,” Draco continued, “is either dead or as mad as Professor Trelawney.”

Hermione studied the book jacket. “Says here he lives on the Continent with his family. And this book was published in the nineties.”

“Great!” Harry said too loudly. “Let’s go and find him.”

“Wait,” Pansy interjected. “Granger, you were explaining what would happen to Potter. So he can go out in the day, but he’ll keep getting all randy and want to jump Draco. Or Scorpius, right?”

“Pansy, for the last time, will you give it a rest?!” Draco glared at her. “Potter is not getting anywhere near Scorpius. And Potter is not going to jump me! And even if he were, he certainly wouldn’t be doing it in front of you!”

A very protracted and uncomfortable silence followed, broken finally when Pansy responded with “More’s the pity, eh, Granger?”

Instead of replying, Hermione just blushed. 

Draco, finally realising what he’d said, groaned and covered his eyes with his hands. “Oh Merlin, would everyone please just go away? Potter, take your spawn and Granger out of here now, will you? Pansy, tell Teddy, Greg and Blaise to go home. And you go with them.”

“Wait, Malfoy, don’t you want to know about Harry—?” Hermione started.

“Oddly enough, no, I don’t really care what the hell happens to him. So long as he leaves my son alone!” Draco barked at her.

“That might not be as easy—”

“Granger! Are you listening?! I. Don’t. Care. Keep him away from us. Got that?” 

She just shook her head. But no one said anything further as they filed out of the room.

^o^

Harry, Albus, and James sat in James’ flat drinking tea and shaking their heads. Hermione had tried to go through all the changes Harry should expect to undergo, then left him with strict orders to register himself as a vampire at the Ministry. Proxy Vampires being so rare, he’d be the first one on record in recent history.

“So, have you got that, Dad?” Albus said for what felt like the millionth time. He knew his father was effectively raised a Muggle, but even Aunt Hermione seemed to have come to grips with magical vampires faster than his father. “You can go out in daylight, but you’ll find you have less and less reason to.”

“I already work mostly at night,” Harry reminded his son. Easily done when one was a breeder and dealer of nocturnal animals.

“You’ll be able to see yourself in mirrors, and your life-span has now been extended even further, but unlike true vampires, you will die eventually.”

“Hooray for that, at least.” 

Albus wasn’t sure his father was taking his new condition terribly seriously. And it was time to get serious.

“You will crave and drink the blood of other humans, Wizard, Muggle, doesn’t matter, but you’ll be attracted to the same type of human your sire was—”

“Stop calling him that,” Harry demanded. “You make it sound like this curse was…consensual.” He practically hissed the last word.

“No, Dad,” Albus was quick to reassure his father. “Of course it wasn’t. And we wouldn’t expect you to do anything non-consensual to anyone else, but you ‘re going to have to feed sometime.”

“I’m sure that’s just rubbish. All my life I’ve been told I’m different from other wizards. Maybe I won’t have to.” Harry tried to sound sure of himself, but by now Albus had learned to distinguish notes of underlying uncertainty.

“We’re just concerned, Dad. This is pretty serious. What if Hermione finds out otherwise? And with you being alone over the holidays…well…” Albus had never heard James sound worried about their father before; it was usually Albus who did the worrying for everyone. 

“You heard Aunt Hermione say she’s going to try to brew some artificial blood or plasma or whatever it is for me during the holidays. She’s the best Potions Mistress there is, and I’m sure she’ll sort it for me before I get too…er…hungry.”

It was true: as Hogwarts’ Potions professor, Hermione had almost limitless resources with which to work. She was staying at the school over the holidays, having been asked to help keep watch over the small number of students who remained there during the festive season. As the Head of Gryffindor House, she would also be keeping an eye on Lily Potter, who had opted to stay at the school with her friend Violet Finnigan whose parents were visiting elderly relatives. 

Albus wondered if maybe he or James should change their plans to be with their father. Albus and Scorpius were going to Tuscany for a romantic Christmas break, and James and Teddy were going to America for a fortnight to watch the Quodpot Play-Offs.

“Please don’t worry. I’ll call your mother if I think I’m going to do something rash, and she and the Aurors will keep an eye on me. I’ve got some work to finish up and then Uncle George and I are going to hang out together and eat and drink too much. I’ll be fine.” Harry sounded reassuring and the boys had no option except to believe him.

^o^

“Malfoy, what are you doing here?” Harry asked as Draco followed hot on the heels of his son through the Floo. 

Draco stood upright and brushed minute particles of ash from his impeccable robes. He set down Scorpius' suitcase next to the large stone fireplace and watched as Albus led Scorpius through to the sitting room. Draco wondered if he should follow and then thought better of it. He wouldn’t be here long, anyway. “Just making sure Scorpius gets away okay. He might forget something,” he said.

“Sure, Malfoy, whatever,” Harry said and turned back to the teapot into which he had evidently been pouring water before the two Malfoys arrived. “Do you want a cup of tea?” 

Draco eyed the kitchen disdainfully. The room was decorated the way he’d expected it —well-worn, gingham everywhere. Farmhouse Shabby is how he’d describe it. The big Aga range was lit and a huge refrigerator stood in the opposite corner. Draco wondered if the ex-Mrs Potter had had a hand in the design or if Harry was trying to decorate the house the way he imagined his parents had when they'd lived here. Since, from what Scorpius had told him, Harry had had to rebuild the entire thing from the ground up, it was unlikely there had been much remaining to work from. 

Harry had moved back to Godric’s Hollow following the end of his marriage, as it was only him now that his youngest—girl? boy? Draco couldn’t remember — was away at school. Draco shuddered at the image of how claustrophobic it must get when all the Potter children were here. He felt closed in just standing in the low-ceilinged room with one other person. Draco reckoned his own kitchen was ten times the size of this one, although he couldn’t be sure; he hadn’t set foot in his own kitchen in months.

“No thank you, Potter. Not if you’re making it,” Draco said.

“I’m not going to poison you, you wanker!” Harry almost shouted. 

Touchy today, Draco thought. Although Harry had misunderstood his reply to the offer. “I know that, Potty. I just don’t trust you to make it the way I like it.”

“You’re fighting a losing battle, Mr Potter,” Scorpius said as he and Albus entered the kitchen. “He’s so fussy about his food that even Mother gave up instructing the house-elves.”

Draco wasn’t sure about which to be more chagrined — the gentle insult issued by his son, or the wide grin Harry bestowed upon Scorpius following the comment.

Draco sought refuge in an argument. He scowled at both of them for good measure. “I’m not fussy. I just like my food to be cooked properly.” 

“Malfoy, I’ve been making cups of tea for thirty-odd years,” Harry said as he put mugs and a sugar bowl on the wooden table that dominated the centre of the room. “I’m pretty sure I’ve got the hang of it. Sit down.”

“Actually, Dad, we’re off now.” Albus rounded the table, suitcase in hand, and gave his father a hug. Draco tried not to frown and then hid it completely when Albus turned to him. “Don’t worry, Mr Malfoy, I’ll take good care of Scorpius.” 

Draco decided to interpret the statement as it was — hopefully — intended. “See that he doesn’t attract the attention of any other…deviants,” Draco said, choosing his words carefully. Harry appeared to ignore them.

Albus just smirked. Draco knew there was a reason he’d grudgingly accepted Scorpius’ relationship with Albus. The Slytherin Potter was so much more intuitive than his Gryffindor relatives. 

Draco shook Scorpius’ hand and then gave his shoulder a quick squeeze with the other arm. “Bon voyage,” he said. 

Scorpius turned and smiled at Harry, and Draco noted the stiff nod delivered in return. It looked as though Harry were trying hard to hold something back, but then Draco may have just been imagining things. He turned to look at Potter Jr; Albus’ face remained impassive.

There was a flash of green followed by another. Then he and Harry were alone in the kitchen. The room instantly felt bigger and less friendly.

“Well, Malfoy, if you’re not having any tea, I’ve got to be getting ready to go.” Draco looked around from the Floo, where he’d been staring and worrying over Scorpius’ safety. 

“Go? Go where?” Obviously Harry wasn’t aware of the new arrangement. “You’re not going anywhere. Not with Scorpius out there.”

“What?!” Harry exclaimed, splattering hot tea from the teapot he had been clearing off the table. “What are you on about? I have a life, I have a job, and I’m not after your bloody son!”

“So you say,” Draco said sceptically. “You’re not going anywhere, or if you are, I’m coming with you.” He finally acknowledged the cup of tea Harry had poured for him, helping himself to a spoonful of sugar. Maybe if Harry saw that he was trying to play nice, he’d be less hostile to Draco’s orders. “Potter, you tried to molest him in front of witnesses, including his…boyfriend.” 

“Malfoy—” Harry said through gritted teeth.

“How do I know you’re not going to Floo straight to Italy?” Draco asked him.

“Malfoy, I am not going to Italy,” Harry said matter-of-factly. “But I am going abroad.”

“Ha! I knew it!” Draco took a sip of tea whilst he made the decision he’d been hoping he’d never have to make. But after reading everything he could about Proxy Vampires, he felt this had been forced upon him. Scorpius meant everything to him. And much as he hated to admit it, Scorpius meant everything to Albus, as well. “Potter, I promised myself I wouldn’t do this, but I guess I’m going to have to.” Draco set down his mug and tried to be brave. It never came easy. “You can have my blood.”

“Sorry?” Harry just stared at him like the idiot he was.

“If you’ll leave Scorpius alone, you can have my blood.” Draco looked at the floor.

“What? I mean — why? I don’t want Scorpius.” 

But even as he said it, Draco, looking up, could tell he wasn’t being honest, not with Draco and not with himself. Harry’s eyes got misty, his lips were parted — his face had all the hallmarks of the I really, really want that look Draco imagined he himself got whenever he fantasised about showering with most of Puddlemere United.

Harry must have realised how unconvincing he sounded, because he dropped his gaze to the mug in front of Draco. 

“Potter, being you, you probably think you’re going to be able to overcome this. But I don’t think that’s going to happen.”

Harry opened his mouth, but Draco cut him off. “Hell, even Granger doesn’t think you’re immune to this, and why should you be? This magic is older even than V-Vol-... you know. To a vampire, you’re not The Boy-Who-Lived or the Chosen One. They’ve seen everything, and all you are is someone who got in the way.” Draco couldn’t tell if he was getting through to Harry, but he kept on nonetheless. “One of these days, you’re going to need...blood. And you’re not putting those — fangs —into my son.”

Harry reflexively reached up to touch his teeth. “They’re not fangs, Malfoy.”

“Not yet,” Draco corrected. “According to this specialist, they develop when you’re ready to feed. And you’ll need access to blood somehow. I’m offering it.”

Harry looked both slightly relieved and a bit of some other emotion Draco couldn’t immediately place. “Malfoy…I don’t know. Despite what you think, I don’t want to hurt you. Or Scorpius. In fact, I think it might be the opposite…”

Draco almost felt sorry for the man. It was clear he didn’t feel at all comfortable discussing either his new affliction or his personal feelings.

“Yes, I gathered that when you tried to kiss me,” Draco said. Feeling sorry for Harry Potter was making him queasy. 

“But…I might…you know…try to do that again. Isn’t that what you’re worried about with Scorpius? I’m not sure I can just turn that off. You’ve said so yourself.”

“I’m sure I can manage,” Draco said, deciding not to mention that it had taken four people to pull Harry off him the first time. Something stirred deep in his belly. 

“I’ve a busy schedule: I’m outside a lot, I travel a lot; I don’t have time for a hanger-on. That’s one reason Ginny and I split up —between her schedule and mine, we never saw one another.”

Your fancying men probably didn’t help, either, Draco thought as he recalled the furore in the Prophet when Potter finally went public with that bit of information. “You’re not leaving my sight, Potter,” he reiterated firmly.

“Whatever, Malfoy,” Harry finally relented. “I just hope you can keep up.”

^o^

And they did go to the Continent, but not in the direction or the fashion of their sons. Harry needed to go to France, where another breeder, one of the main suppliers to students of Beauxbatons, was lending him a male barn owl to act as stud to a number of Harry’s females. Not all magical owls mated for life, and thus proved good stock for breeding, Draco had learned in his first lesson in animal husbandry. 

Draco found the entire journey much more enjoyable than he had thought possible. He’d anticipated a jarringly long and nauseating Apparition followed by a tedious meeting of two bird fanciers. Instead, Harry had opted to fly to Brittany. Draco hadn’t been on his broom in years. It was exhilarating and much fun was had reminiscing about their days competing with one another in the air. Of course the trip had to be turned into a challenge, and they probably spent far too long mucking around over the Channel, swooping this way and that, flying so low that their boots skimmed the surface of the water, and getting so wound up doing acrobatics that they both nearly crashed headlong into a British Geological Survey vessel.

Finally arriving in Quimper, Draco went into town to shop for Christmas presents, whilst Harry did business with the breeder. The two men met Draco in town, where they had dinner and a bottle or four of cider, after which Harry and Draco opted to stay at a nearby hotel.

Up until now, Harry hadn’t seemed to be anything more or less than human, and nearly almost tolerable, although Draco suspected the cider had a lot to do with that assessment.

Nevertheless, as much as was possible, he tried to remain alert to any change of mood or behaviour Harry might exhibit. Draco wondered whether Harry might now make a move on him as he had at the party, now that Scorpius was well and truly miles away. But, Hermione had surmised that that had happened because Harry had been overcome by his lust for Scorpius, and when Scorpius had been rendered inaccessible, Harry had simply jumped on the next person nearby.

And it did rather seem as though Harry had a grip on this whole vampire thing. He’d certainly not changed in appearance; he sported no sharpened teeth, and his black-haired, green-eyed reflection was clearly visible in the mirror behind the bar. 

He ate and drank, too — but now that Draco thought about it, staring at the cornices on the hotel room ceiling from the comfort of his bed, Harry hadn’t commented on the flavour of either the food or drink. Of course, that could have just been the Translation Spell he was using – Draco noticed that Harry had cast the simplest of spells, one that had probably sufficed for a routine business transaction, but that didn't allow for a language’s nuances and subtleties. Several times through the course of the evening Draco found himself translating for Harry, neither man being sober nor caring enough to manage a more intricate spell. 

Regardless, it still didn’t seem like anything he should lose sleep over. Draco fell asleep thinking about devouring crepes.

He awoke being devoured himself. 

Harry was lying atop him, fully clothed, mouthing his neck. He writhed over Draco, tangling their limbs and leaving a trail of saliva along Draco’s throat. Draco yelped in surprise, and Harry pressed into him. Draco’s first instinct was to push the other man off him and leap from the bed: so much for considering drunken victims off-limits. Once again Harry was the exception that proved the rule.

Then something made Draco pause. He stopped brooding and actually listened to his body. He felt good. He felt better than good. He felt divine. 

Draco hesitantly wrapped an arm around Harry’s neck. That felt amazing. He did it again with the other arm. Better still! He felt Harry lift his head and peer down into his face. Their eyes locked. Achingly slowly, Harry lowered his head and laid the gentlest of kisses on Draco’s mouth. Draco held Harry’s gaze through it. They came together again. And again, each time less gently, each time pressing more of themselves against the other, until finally they were nearly suffocating in their embrace.

“Can I have you?” Harry whispered in between kisses.

“Only if I can have you,” Draco answered without thought. 

“Mmm…” Harry hummed. An eternity passed. Then Harry nuzzled Draco’s neck. “Hold on,” he advised, his voice husky and low.

And Draco did—arms tight around Harry’s neck, a leg wrapped around Harry’s hip; Harry lay sprawled between his thighs, arms squeezing him tight.

Draco felt the warm breath, then the sharp teeth, and finally the soft lips as they closed on the tender skin of his throat. And it was as if he exploded into Harry’s mouth. 

Now Draco knew he must be dreaming. How else could he explain the heady combination of pain and pleasure he felt as Harry sucked at his flesh? How else could he explain his and Harry’s clothes seemingly melting away as he rolled Harry onto his back? How else could he explain the inexplicable joy he felt as he slid into Harry’s body when Harry had had his fill of his own? 

All Draco could think, as he shuddered and poured himself into Harry for a second time, was that he never wanted to wake up.

*

But wake he did, his face turned away from Harry, and holding Harry’s hand. As if on instinct, Draco raised his free hand to his neck and felt the wounds from their first coupling. There were marks, he could feel them. 

Draco turned his head and looked at the sleeping man beside him. The white pillowcase was splattered with crimson from when Harry had pulled away, before the action of his withdrawal had stemmed the flow of Draco’s blood. 

Draco gently shifted and moved from the bed, padding into the toilet where he glanced into the mirror. There were dark circles under his eyes, but that was natural for him after a heavy night. He lifted his head and inspected his throat. Nothing. He could see nothing. And yet, when he ran his fingertips over where he knew Harry had bitten him, he could feel two small puncture wounds. He regarded his reflection thoughtfully. After a long moment, he sighed and splashed water onto his face. Things could be worse.

*

Very little was said after Harry woke up. He dressed haphazardly, and Draco had a chance to admire the body he’d briefly possessed the night before. Harry went to his room to wash and mumbled something about wanting to have a regular meal. Draco presumed it was supposed to be a joke, but he was sure Harry saw through his forced smile. 

After a quick breakfast and settling their bill, they flew home in silence. The owl Harry had bought was waiting at a window with an apprehensive but hopeful expression. Draco knew just how it felt.

^o^

They made it as far as the kitchen. Draco followed Harry into the room when he went to check Floo messages, and when Harry turned back, Draco was there and found himself trapped between the vampire and the table.

*

“You really are going to need some proper food,” Draco said, trying to adjust his clothing. They’d not removed a stitch, just shoved it aside as necessary.

“I know,” Harry sighed against his neck. “I could eat a horse.”

“Disgusting!” Draco exclaimed.

“Sorry, Muggle phrase.”

“It is almost Christmas, you know. Plenty of good food around this time of year. Do try to get into the festive spirit, or we’ll be permanently stuck in Hallow’s Eve.”

Harry laughed, warm moist breath escaping. Draco held him a little tighter.

“I love Christmas dinner,” Harry said. “I won’t be having it this year since Ginny’s bringing Neville to the Burrow with her. I was invited, but it might be a little weird for everyone, me being there while she's trying to welcome him into the family.” He rolled over and pulled Draco on top of him.

“You could always bring me as your date.” 

Harry squeezed him back and laughed raucously. Draco winced and pressed a hand to Harry’s mouth until he realised what he was doing and removed it. He wiped it on Harry’s shirt. 

Potter tried to give him a poke in the ribs. With lightning-quick reflexes Draco caught Harry’s wrist in his hand. He pinned it above Harry’s head. 

Harry just kept laughing. “You trying to strong-arm me, Malfoy?” Harry wrapped his free arm around Draco’s waist.

Draco trapped Harry’s legs between his, knees digging into the wooden surface of the table. “I could have you on your back in an instant, Golden Boy.”

“Malfoy, I’m already on my back.”

“Just where you belong, Potty. But I’ll admit, there is something rather appealing about the idea of you trussed up like a Christmas turkey.”

Harry bucked his hips and Draco jerked upwards again. “Come on, you can tie me up later. I need to go and sort out that owl before he has his way with all my females.”

“Right, nothing like spoiling the mood,” Draco grumbled and slid off Harry’s body. “I’m going to go and check on the Manor. I’ll be back for lunch.” He reached for the Floo powder, taking the image of Harry lying half-clothed on his kitchen table with him to Wiltshire.

^o^

“Malfoy, what are you doing?” 

Several days later, Draco stood amidst the chaos that was Harry’s kitchen. The table was laden with open packets and tins, utensils, bottles, and ingredients. On the cooker, a pan of sprouts was boiling over and the smell of poultry and potatoes wafted through the room. 

Draco’s expression changed from one of surprise to one of consternation. “Fuck! What are you doing back so early?” He felt his face go red. Of course, that could have just been from the heat in the room. Draco had been hoping to have the meal done and set out before Harry returned. He’d then be able to tell Harry that he’d had the Malfoy house-elves prepare and deliver their Christmas dinner.

“Are you…are you cooking for me?” 

Draco wanted to slap Harry’s lop-sided grin off his face. “No.”

“It looks like you’re cooking me Christmas dinner.” 

“I’ve made me Christmas dinner, Harry. You just happened to come home in time to see it.” Draco slammed the lid on the pot of boiling cranberries, just as Harry moved to lift it off.

Harry made a show of sniffing the air and then smirked. “That’s not one of my owls in the oven is it?”

Silently, Draco cursed himself for not have thought of that. “Shut up.”

“Did you do all this yourself? No little house-elves here scurrying around at your beck and call?” Harry leant over and looked under the table. Draco pretended not to look at his arse, instead trying— and failing—to focus his gaze on an errant parsnip which had rolled off the table earlier. Harry spotted and retrieved it. He handed it to Draco. “These are my favourite,” he said, almost whimsically.

“Wonderful. I’ll make sure you get this one which has lain on the floor for the last two hours.” Draco tossed the parsnip onto the worktop and folded his arms across his chest. “Are you going to just stand there for the rest of the evening, or are you going to help? I haven’t a clue what I’m doing.” That last bit just slipped out, but Harry chose to be a good sport and didn’t reply with any scathing remarks. 

Instead, he just smiled, set down the two bottles of Muggle wine he held in his hands, and walked over to the sink to wash his hands.

*

The surviving Weasley twin came round to the house in time for the Christmas pudding. He brought with him some sort of powder that not only made the flames on the thing turn various colours, but they also danced so high there was a danger of setting the rafters alight. Draco finally put a stop to the show when Christmas music began blaring from their dessert. 

Still, the bottle of pudding wine didn’t go amiss and Draco managed a grudging thank-you toast to their guest. He stopped short of taking a sip when he realised he was thinking of George Weasley as their guest. He, too, was Harry’s guest. But for some time, it hadn’t felt that way. The house felt more like ho—

Draco shook himself.

“What’s the matter?” Harry asked. “I’m sure it’s not spelled to turn your lips blue or anything.” Then he paused. “It isn’t, is it?” he asked George.

“No, but that’s a good idea! Might do that with my new range of sugar-free sweets.” The ginger man laughed. "Speaking of funny diets, how are you holding up? Any desire to turn into a bat or drain Malfoy of all of his blood?” George winked at Draco. He pretended not to notice.

Harry laughed. “No. Malfoy’s just here to make sure I don’t go and attack someone while the kids are away. I don’t think I’ll make a very good vampire.”

George re-filled their glasses. “Mum was worried about you, but she understands why you didn’t want to come round this year. But you know you’re always welcome at the Burrow.”  
“Says the man who’s avoiding it,” Harry said, smiling.

“I have my own family now,” George said. “I think Mum forgets that sometimes. Especially where I’m concerned. Luckily, Ron loves the attention and stands in to play house with her.” George yawned. “But speaking of playing house, I’d better get back. Angelina volunteered me to dress up as Santa this year for the kids at St Mungo's. And if they’re anything like every other kid in the world, they’ll be up early tomorrow.”

“I think that’s wonderful, George ,” Harry said. 

Ugh ,thought Draco. Though he did thank George for the wine and handed him his cloak as he left. It was only afterwards that he realised he was behaving like a house-elf. Or worse, Harry’s spouse.

*

“You didn’t seem to think much of that Santa plan,” Harry said, as he set the glasses and the empty bottle in the sink with the rest of the pudding dishes. 

“I’m not sure which idea is worse: being told to dress up like Santa by one's wife, or actually dressing up like Santa,” Draco said.

“What, you never loved someone enough that you’d do anything for them?” Harry followed Draco back through to the sitting room. “Or is it just a question of giving up control? Because I’ve been learning that lesson all my life.”

Draco stopped in his tracks and considered Harry’s words. Even if he had seen the irony, he’d never admit it. Instead, he reached back and grabbed Harry’s hand. “Come on,” Draco growled. “Time to show you who’s boss.”

*

“You’re not going to use that one, are you? I’m almost insulted.” Harry grumbled. 

Draco’s indignant reply came from across the room where he was retrieving things from a satchel. “Harry, I wear all the other ones I have.”

“What? Someone like you must have a hundred ties!” Harry said.

“I do have a hundred ties, and I wear them all. Now shut up, or I’ll stick this in your mouth!”

A deafening silence ensued as they both considered that last comment. If it were possible, Draco’s erection became even harder. 

“Go ahead, put it on me, then,” Harry whispered and Draco advance on the bed. Leaning over, he somewhat awkwardly and self-consciously tied the piece of silver and green silk over Harry’s eyes.

Despite his whinging, losing the ability to see what Draco would do next certainly had a positive effect on Harry’s body. Draco watched as the other man’s penis filled with blood, the lure of the angry red column of flesh almost compelling him to move closer.

He resisted though, just to see Harry’s reaction. Clearly, Harry would try to anticipate what he would do next and Draco was keen to keep him off-kilter. He climbed from the bed, reached for his wand and pointed it at the door, which opened and then slammed shut at his command. Then he stood as still as he could beside the supine, blindfolded Harry.

“Malfoy,” Harry said directly. “I know you’re here. I can smell you: I can smell your blood, the breath leaving your body, the scent of your hair…” His voice died away and his cock hardened even further. Draco was amazed and flattered that these features about himself, which Harry evidently could sense, would provoke such a response.

Now Draco did lean towards that lovely cock. He blew out a breath over it, and despite how Harry had assured him that he could be sensed so clearly, Harry seemed startled.

So as not to lessen the effect the element of surprise seemed to have had, as far as the attention to Harry’s cock was concerned, Draco swallowed it whole.

Harry thrashed against his bonds, and although Draco was under no illusions about the fact that this man was one of the most powerful wizards in the world, it appeared that all reason had left Harry; he was reduced to reaction. Instead of the ties becoming undone, or objects shooting around the room, Harry seemed to be turning everything inwards. 

Sooner than Draco expected, Harry filled his mouth with warm fluid. At the same time, Draco felt a surge of affection flow towards him, just as he felt it flow from him back to Harry.

Draco had already anticipated a night of physical exhaustion. Now it looked as though he’d be enduring emotional exhaustion as well. Never having felt that for positive reasons, Draco welcomed it — just as he welcomed the feeling of Harry’s teeth against his skin soon after he had pushed himself inside the other man.

^o^

“I’m sure they’re both fine. Look, the place is still standing,” Albus quipped as he and Scorpius stepped from the Floo two days later. Their bags appeared behind them in the fireplace and the boys pulled them into the kitchen. “Tea?” 

“Please,” Scorpius replied and sat down at the table. Albus began busying himself with the kettle and milk.

CRASH! 

A huge thud followed by the sound of something shattering came from above them and the floor shook with the force of it.

“What the fuck—?” Albus dropped the teabag he was holding and dashed from the room, Scorpius right behind him. They flew up the stairs and burst into the master bedroom, which was situated directly above the kitchen.

“Dad! What the hell are you doing? Get off him!” This time it was Scorpius’ turn to shout the order. 

Harry and Draco tried to spring apart. Harry's arms were threaded through the sleeves of the bathrobe Draco was wearing. Their hands were clasped together and Harry’s legs were wrapped around Draco's torso. 

Of course, trying to break away proved nearly impossible, and both men succeeded only in shuffling from one side of the bed to the other before rolling off it next to the overturned night table and the broken water jug.

They danced about trying to get themselves turned right-side out, Draco pulling the dressing gown closed and Harry pulling the duvet over himself. By now, Albus and Scorpius had had time to compose themselves and stood in the doorway, arms crossed over their chests, twin expressions of disgust and amusement fighting for dominance across their faces.

“A little privacy wouldn’t go amiss, boys!” Draco grumbled. “I don’t waltz in on you two whilst you’re in the middle of…” he trailed off, obviously not wanting to elaborate further.

“Unlike some people,” Albus muttered under his breath. If his father had heard him, or indeed understood the inference, he said nothing. “We didn’t think anyone was home.”

“Clearly,” Draco shouted, stooping to pick up random articles of clothing from the floor. 

Harry, bundled in the large duvet, stumbled past them through the doorway and towards the loo. “Can we meet you downstairs, maybe? Put the kettle on, if you don’t mind,” he called.

“Already ahead of you,” Albus said. “And you might like to know, we found the vampire expert from that book. He lives in Italy.”

“What?” Harry turned around so fast, the duvet nearly tripped him.

“A little late,” Draco grumbled. 

Scorpius glared at him. “Okay, we’ll just tell him to go back, then. I had invited him to the Manor later this afternoon, but if you’ve got other things to do…”

“Scorpius, that’s enough.”

“Come on, Albus,” Scorpius said and nudged him with his shoulder. “We can have a good gossip about this with everyone else instead.”

The boys were halfway down the stairs before Draco’s angry shouting reached a painful decibel level.

^o^

Everyone was settled into a sitting room in Malfoy Manor. Hermione and Professor Silva-Behann, who was much younger than Draco had envisioned, sat together, deep in conversation. After everyone had been served drinks, the professor cleared his throat. 

“I’m very flattered you’d ask me here, and I value the opportunity to study what is a unique…” he looked at Harry, “example of a very rare breed.”

“That’s Potter all over,” Draco quipped. 

Everyone in the room “shhh’d” him.

“Tell us, Professor,” Hermione said in her best swotty voice. “Is it true that Proxy Vampires will mimic their sire’s desires in every way?”

“Proxy Vampires will indeed be attracted to the blood of their sire’s favoured type, but they by no means need to follow this instinct for feeding as their sires do. You could have drunk from anyone, Harry — even your own family — which would be completely unacceptable in True Vampires.”

“It’s going to be a completely unacceptable in the case of this vampire, too, proxy or not,” James informed his father.

“But what about sexual attraction?” Albus interjected. “He seemed only to have eyes for Scorpius in the first few days…”

“Which he’s obviously got over now,” Scorpius said with a smirk in his father’s direction. Draco rolled his eyes.

“What do you mean?” Silva-Behann asked.

“We found them…er…together…when we got back from holiday,” Albus continued.

“And?” 

“You know,” Hermione elaborated. “Together, together.” 

After an awkward silence that seemed to drag on forever, the professor exclaimed, “Ahhh!” He looked thoughtful for a moment and then smiled. “Well, the initial attraction to you, Mr Malfoy,” he indicated Scorpius, “was likely the residual carry-over from his sire, but what gave you the idea it was sexual?"

Harry blushed and stammered. “Um…be-because right after Scorpius was taken out of my grasp, I had a go at Malfoy—er—Draco, and not just for his blood.”

“Harry, explain how this desire for Scorpius manifested itself. Were you drawn to him?”

Harry nodded, frowning.

“Did you truly desire him?”

Harry looked confused. “What do you mean?” 

The professor sat forward and placed his teacup on the low table. “I mean, did you need to touch Scorpius in a sexual way?” 

“Er…” Harry looked shiftily around the room, but then seemed to brighten. “Uh, I don’t think so. Not sexually, I think. I just wanted to touch his throat, caress his skin, and sink my teeth into his flesh, but nothing…sexual.” Albus and Scorpius had inched closer to each other during Harry’s explanation and Draco tried not to make fists with his hands. The way Harry put it sounded pretty damn sexual to him.

“And you say that you then went for Draco right after that?” The professor asked.

Harry nodded, looking very embarrassed. “Um, yes.”

“And what did you feel then?”

“Nearly the same thing, only it was…” Harry turned his gaze to the ground.

“What?” 

Everyone, it seemed, was on tenterhooks. Even Hermione had paused, teacup half-way to her mouth.

Harry turned and locked eyes with Draco. “I did feel desire in a sexual fashion. Lust even. I lost control, and then I don’t remember anything.”

“And since then?”

“I’ve been…uh…feeding from Malfoy…” Harry said very slowly.

“And?” James prompted.

“We’ve been…. We’ve been…”

“They’ve been sleeping together.” Scorpius said. 

Devil child, thought Draco unkindly.

“I think I understand now,” Silva-Behann said with a smile. “Harry, you wanted Scorpius’ blood because your sire did. That is all. Yes, his father’s blood is genetically similar, and that would have been one reason why you turned to him when you couldn’t drink from Scorpius. But you wanted Draco for more than that. Your body wasn’t craving Draco’s because your vampiric nature demanded it. You were craving Draco because...well, because I presume you wanted him.”

“What?” everyone in the room shouted at once.

Harry evidently needed more clarification. So did Draco, to be honest, after a bombshell like that. “So, so…there was never a curse or anything? I mean, Malfoy stayed with me here while Scorpius was away to prevent me from going after his son.”

“And did you feel like going after him?” the Professor asked.

“No. Not really,” Harry admitted.  
“And did you feed satisfactorily?”

Harry glanced at Draco who couldn’t help but look back. “Er…yes.” 

More than satisfactorily, Draco thought.

“And have been feeding regularly since then?” 

Draco resisted the urge to shout, Yes, please let’s continue to discuss my sex life in front of our families! at the scholar.

Harry, obviously channelling Draco’s thoughts, just nodded.

The professor sat back with another smile and steepled his fingers. Draco could almost see Hermione with the same expression out of the corner of his eye. “So you thought you’d found a substitute for what you wanted, when what you had was in fact the real thing instead.”

“I was only doing this to protect my son,” Draco said. “At the time, it made perfect sense.” Harry looked up at him with those ridiculous eyes through those equally ridiculous glasses. Then he smiled and Draco knew he was lost. “I won’t deny there was always an attraction,” Draco confessed. “But I thought I’d kept it buried underneath huge amounts of resentment, revulsion, and denial.”

“Don’t forget ridicule, Malfoy,” Hermione added helpfully.

“Shut up.”

“Thanks, Malfoy,” Harry said. “Nice to know how you really feel.” 

“Dad, don’t berate him too much. It sounds as though you had it bad, too.” James surprised everyone with this comment.

Silva-Behann summed up. “Mr Potter, Mr Malfoy, there is no curse or hidden agenda with vampires; that’s just a myth. There is an attraction to a physical type or taste of a certain blood. Vampires only crave blood, not affection, or at least not any more than humans do. What you feel for Draco is nothing more than human.”

Every eye in the room was trained on Harry and Draco. 

The professor continued. “True, the blood sustains you, Harry, and drinking it from Draco, or indeed anyone genetically related to him, rather than, say, me, for example, could be likened to the difference in taste between filet mignon to my wife’s pot roast. Do you understand? The reason you feel this way for Draco is because you just do. You can use your vampiric nature to rationalise it, though, if that makes you more comfortable.” Silva-Behann’s eyes twinkled not unlike those of another professor they all knew. Draco felt like punching him in the face.

Then he really thought about the words the professor had said. Harry was sleeping with him because he…well, loved him, and Harry’s body was responding to that, not the other way around. He had Draco’s blood and feelings to sustain him as the vampire and human he now was.

Draco glanced up at the people in the room again. They didn’t look disgusted. That was a start, he supposed. He sighed. His mother had always hoped he’d settle down after he and Astoria had split. Draco wasn’t sure this was what Narcissa had had in mind, but at least these people seemed to accept it.

Time would tell.

^o^

“Dad, you’re not putting a Tracking Charm on me, are you? I thought we’d talked about that.” Albus issued a stern warning to his father as he and Scorpius did up their woollen cloaks. The temperature had dropped considerably in the last few days. 

“That goes for you, too, Father,” Scorpius echoed.

Harry and Draco were at the kitchen table, an open bottle of wine sitting between them. Both looked up innocently at their offspring. 

“We could always come with you,” Draco teased. The boys made faces at the suggestion and protested vociferously. Harry smiled into his glass. “What, Potter? Don’t you think that’s a good idea?” 

“Malfoy,” he looked over at Draco fondly. “Why would I want to go out on New Year’s Eve to some club filled with raucous music and over-priced cocktails, when I can stay at home with you and drink for free?”

 

**The End**


End file.
